


ten thousand miles left on the road; five-hundred hours 'till I am home

by ghostl0rd (orphan_account)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Immigration & Emigration, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Pre-Relationship, References to Depression, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-07 06:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15902475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ghostl0rd
Summary: It's not that Nyx misses the war;  just that the chaos had an order to it: do this thing here, do that other thing there;don't ever do that thing again.  Post-Gralea, even without orders being barked at him, navigating peacetime somehow proves to be a quiet chaos all its own.At least; it might have ended that way if not for Crowe and Pelna.Pelnyx.





	ten thousand miles left on the road; five-hundred hours 'till I am home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hine/gifts).



> AU where Lucis wins the war
> 
> music:  
> Feel Like Summer - Childish Gambino  
> Beautiful - Viigo  
> Love Me Harder - Ariana Grande ft. The Weeknd  
> Nothing to Regret - Robinson

Nyx is a no show the first week he's meant to go to the VA.   Well,  _technically_  he does and  _actually_ he doesn't. What happens is he factors in the address in his morning running route, and it takes him all the way to Thursday of that week when he realizes he's been subconsciously casing the place: memorizing all the entry/exit points, recognizing the faces of people he's seen going in and out. He defaults back to his original running route the very next day because it's an ideal time to quit before he gets carried away and starts scoping out potential sniping spots. 

"There's nothing wrong with that." Doctor Cid says at their next session, expression neutral over the darjeeling he's poured for himself.  "Just out of curiosity...how many did you count?"

"Five..." Nyx answers, but it sounds more like a question when he reaches the end that syllable, because Cid's smiling as he makes a note of that on his clipboard and this is the first time in all their sessions for that.  

The smiling, not the writing, to be clear. Doctor Cid does  _plenty_ of writing. 

 

. . . 

 

It occurs to Nyx he should be more worried about  _that_ , too.

 _Still_ ;

"It's six." Crowe says.

"Sure?" 

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" 

Nyx manages to grin against the weight of the barbells on his chest as he finishes a set. 

 _Three, two—_  

"Depends on the time of year, doesn’t it."

Crowe doesn't hit him. Mostly because it'd be dangerous to because she’s supposed to be spotting, but her exhale is still sharp, irritated. This spotting business— figuratively, literally and  _emotionally_  speaking is Libertus' job, but with his food truck taking off in Lestallum these days it’s left the two of them stuck dancing around the position of 'sounding board'. 

Partly because ‘blunt’ is to Crowe as water is to wet, but mostly because with Libertus understanding Nyx so well Nyx has never had to explain himself.  You would think the complete lack of buffer Libertus' absence creates would be enough to force them to understand each other; accommodate each other's idiosyncrasies better, but with every day that passes it only feels like the void that’s been present from day one has only been growing bigger.  Libertus was the one who took it upon himself to assume the mantle of 'older brother' for Crowe while Nyx was still reeling from having it unexpectedly ripped from him, and Cid posits maybe that’s why he's never warmed up to her. 

_“It’s alright, Nyx. We can’t be all things to all people at all times.”_

If Crowe's as bothered as he is it's hard to tell when they move to the mat afterward to spar.  She was already punching Lucians on the playground before the glaive taught her proper technique, and time hasn’t once dulled the steel that catches him in the ribs and almost succeeds in winding him. 

“The  _dead king_  has more fight than you!”

Crowe snickers as he shakes it off, dodging his returning jabs effortlessly. Continues to goad him into hitting harder. Faster.  _At least_  hitting her. He manages to knock her backward but is too slow with the follow through: she feints, and while he falls for that; gets him good with a deciding left hook that ends their match.  He’d been unaware of the tiny audience that had gathered, and notices one man grudgingly hand a twenty to one of the PTs.  

“Wait till Libertus hears about this.” Crowe says as she stands over him, the overhead lights illuminating her hair from behind, making her look like some kind of chaotic harbinger, with that grin on her face.

Nyx tugs off the protective headgear—for all the good  _that_  did him—and rubs his jaw, surprised it's still intact.

“How much to buy your silence?” he asks.

Crowe offers a hand.  “Let me mull it over.”

This may be the closest semblance to 'domesticity' they'll ever have between them, so a part of him is grateful for it. The bruises are proof there are some things post-war that haven't changed, and Insomnia feels a lot more familiar for it; a lot less alien.

But then as he’s walking her to her bike later on, she breaks the companionable silence with, "The coffee's not so bad," and he internally finds himself backpedalling; his entire body shutting down just short of her parking space.

He’s sure at the way she pretends to make rocket science out of zipping up her motorcycle jacket that she knows he's dragging his feet when he finally moves again.

"Uh...I heard it's filter." Nyx volunteers, reluctantly, because somehow  _that_  answer was better than letting the silence grow between them. 

"Heard or saw?"  Crowe rolls her eyes, pulling on her gloves now. 

What he’d give to have his shit together the way she does, effortlessly. All those years of hearing Libertus losing his shit worrying over her and here  _he_ is living a life not too dissimilar from when they were serving: a skeleton of a life that is more of a To-Do list for existence, than anything else.

Crowe pokes him with the toe of her boot. “Heard or Saw?”

"I  _hate_  filter coffee."  Nyx replies. “What does it matter?”

Crowe gives him a long, searching look, and Nyx shoves his hands in his pockets.  It feels less incriminating if she can't see how tightly clenched they are underneath his hoodie. 

"Because it  _does_ ," she says, and a whole lot gentler than he's ever thought her capable of, which actually succeeds making him feel a lot worse.  

"I…I don’t know…" Nyx shrugs, hands still safely tucked away. “The whole 'sitting in a circle' thing it’s…unnatural.” 

Crowe leans forward and punches him in the shoulder. "Duscae.  You remember, right?” Nyx fights the urge to shrug again. “Well it’s kind of like that.”

Has she always had a selective memory? Everyone from their unit knows Duscae was the one where they’d scraped by, and  _barely_. Zero air support, quickly diminishing ground support—the worst rescue op he’d ever run.  

“There wasn’t even a  _plan_. And the Cap—”

“Zero plan,  _zero_  Cap.” Crowe makes 'O' shapes with each hand.  “Okay I'm out. Text me how the coffee is.”

She's gone in the long seconds it takes for Nyx to come anywhere  _close_  to the vicinity of understanding that analogy. 

 

. . .

 

When he meets Pelna it’s purely because Nyx is lingering at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the VA, trying to psyche himself into stepping through the doors. Everyone who passes usually does so with looks of disdain or sympathy and sometimes Nyx gets the odd pat on the shoulder here and there. Pelna’s the one who has the audacity to clap him on the back.

"Better hurry, before the Lucians change their mind." 

Pelna doesn’t check back for Nyx’s reaction, but Nyx is knows he could map entire constellations of the smile in Pelna’s voice in a pitch black sky, having been so acutely accustomed to cold indifference for so long.  

The coffee is terrible. Nyx barely notices—caught off guard by the subtle strength of Pelna’s handshake when introductions are made; the  _danger_  of experiencing that smile up so close and personal.  He only remembers when Crowe brings it up at their next  breakfast catch up at  _Johnny's_ ; has to elbow him by way of greeting to jolt him awake.

"Hey caveman.” She greets, sliding into her spot beside him, waving one of the servers over.  She has her sunglasses hanging from the neckline of her henley, so he feels the full force of those probing brown eyes after the orders are made. “ _So_.  Filter? No filter?”

“Definitely filter.” Nyx answers, still fiddling with the salt and sugar packets in front of him.  Crowe sits serene, watching him, possibly deliberating on how Libertus would handle this. It really isn't like him to fidget—sure he has a rep for sprinting into battle before the order's been given, but this is different.  This is his first light taste of normalcy, the first time someone hasn't tiptoed around him like they were sweeping for mines—

A sugar packet hits him in the temple.

“Stop brooding." Crowe says.

"I'm  _not_. And I don't 'brood'." Nyx adds with a scowl.

"Yes, you  _are_. You brood  _all the time_. You're brooding  _right now_."  Crowe waves off the argument Nyx is about to make, "whatever, tell me how it went.  Coffee was crap?"

“Yeah, but I didn’t have a lot. Too busy meeting everyone and uh, getting used to the place.  It's not as imposing as I thought it'd be, on the inside…"

It feels like he's rambling so he’s grateful for the distraction when the server arrives with their order. Crowe transfers her tomato half over to his plate—a habit that usually drives Libertus up the walls, but Libertus isn't here, and he likes tomatoes anyway.

"So it's cozy. Cozy's good," Crowe says, shaking an obscene amount of pepper over her eggs. "Make any new friends?"

"Yeah, just one.” At least, he's sure he did. “He's from Z Unit."  

" _Ouch_." Crowe says, but then shifts closer, intrigued.  "Did he meet the Oracle?"

Nyx understands Crowe's curiosity—it’s not like he isn’t curious himself. ‘The Zoldara Massacre' or 'The Siege of Zoldara Henge' as it is less commonly known, was, for all intents and purposes, a suicide mission disguised as a rescue.  It's a sensitive, almost taboo topic where the upper echelons of Lucian power are concerned, so all anyone really knows is that post-War, the hard earned victory for Z Unit was ultimately deemed pyrrhic.  Niflheim might have been nearly depleted of its resources when the order came to storm Fenestala Manor, but Aldercapt still had the high ground. 

_Lucian hubris, at its finest._

“Brooding again,” Crowe reminds, elbowing him. 

“I didn’t really ask—seemed inappropriate for a first conversation.”  

"Just like your lack of a grooming regimen." Crowe rolls her eyes.  "Pass me the salt."

 

. . .

 

Pelna isn’t at the VA the next time Nyx goes, nor is he there for the next month and a half.  Nyx is a little—alright,  _a lot_ bummed, because he was banking on using the Lucian 4D Immigrant Experience as a jumping off point to making friends, but the Six move in mysterious ways, and hand him something  _so much better_  as compensation for participating in his group’s activities. Not that he minds—he's come to appreciate the cooking and woodwork classes for the sole reason that they keep his hands busy, keep his mind from straying to the dark corners.  Libertus video-calls him in the middle of a class because he's cynical of what Crowe and Luche have told him, so Nyx gets the added vindication when his class jumps to his defense: fifteen or so pestles waving in the background in solidarity.

"Calm down, it's  _just_  guacamole," Libertus grouses.  He hangs up before Nyx can gloat, but that doesn't stop him from grinning for the rest of the class.  

 

...

 

A few days later, when he's stopped wondering about Pelna, Nyx is doing his usual calisthenics after his morning run when a bright yellow ball bounces to a halt at his feet.  A familiar shout rings from across the park just as Nyx picks it up, but Pelna's warning comes too late: next thing Nyx knows, a two hundred pound force of energetic licks and slobber barrels into him, two heavy paws pinning him down.  His ribcage is on the verge of concaving, but he doesn't fight it: he’s never come across a living thing so indescribably happy to see him.   A damningly good reason as any not to relinquish the ball. 

“Low energy my ass,” Pelna mutters, pulling his headphones down as he comes jogging over. “Kirin, back up!”

The weight on Nyx’s chest recedes, but the Saint Bernard continues to hover, nosing at his hand. 

“Uh…you mind…” Pelna clears his throat.

As soon as Nyx’s fingers open, Kirin snatches the ball away and moves to lie on the ground beside Pelna’s feet, chewing happily, tail thumping with all the energy of a jackhammer.  

“This is usually where I apologise, but you looked like you were enjoying yourself.” Pelna says after he helps Nyx upright again.

“Opposite of a problem," Nyx says earnestly.  He lifts the bottom of his tee to wipe his face the best he can and when he glances back, Kirin has forgotten the ball in favour of having her stomach scratched by Pelna. He crouches down as well to get in on the action, in awe of how soft and glossy her coat is.  He had a dog growing up too, so he knows right off the bat that the one in front of him is well taken care of. 

"Spoiled little shit," Pelna goes, chuckling. 

 _Well, that too_ , Nyx thinks, smiling.  “How old is she?” 

“I'd need to ask the vet." There's a shift then, a slight dim in Pelna's smile.  "Kirin she--when her owner... _passed_  he didn't have anything else,  _anyone_  else, besides the unit.  At least,  _we_  thought we were.  Sucks that it got to him, you know: no one waiting for him when he got home…” 

"...no one to miss him when he went." Nyx says roughly, bile having collected in the back of his throat.  He hasn't lost anyone from his unit post-battle, but it doesn't make what happened to Pelna's friend any less tragic, any less of a cautionary tale. Make him wonder if that's where Lib and Crowe think he's heading. "I'm sorry." 

"That’s adjustment for you." Pelna shrugs.  "One minute you're the last bastion between Niflheim and freedom for the Tenebrae people; the next you're sitting around a Sunday barbecue, listening to civvies complain about their kids."

"At least  _you_  get barbecues." Nyx mutters, not really meaning to be funny, but Pelna snorts. Bursts into a laughter so filled unfettered joy and dismay in equal measure, that Nyx finds himself laughing too.  

"Oh boy," Pelna says, dabbing the corners of his eyes with his shirt collar, "that's the saddest shit I've heard. I knew I liked you." 

Nyx can't help himself, can't help the shit-eating grin that threatens to split his cheeks. "Of course you do. What's not to like?" 

It goes from there. 

 

. . .

 

Actually, it goes so well that Pelna lets him walk Kirin—every Sunday afternoon to be exact—while he goes off to play footie with his Zoldara boys.  Nyx considers it an honor that a guy he’s only known for the cumulative total of two, going on three months has  _that_  amount of trust and faith in him, because Kirin is an absolute delight. Taking care of her is an exercise in—well,  _exercise_  itself while chasing after her in the park; perfecting his apology game when she inevitably bulldozes through the odd family picnic here and there.  

Doctor Cid is over the moon when Nyx tells him. They spend most of their session going through Nyx’s photos with Kirin and  _of_  Kirin, that Nyx comes out of it absolutely certain the doctor was more excited about Nyx's animal friend, rather than the  _human_  one. 

“You’ve really never considered getting a dog of your own?”  Cid asks, walking him to the door.

“Definitely considering it now.” Nyx says as they shake hands. 

 

. . .

 

He puts a pin in that idea when he sees Crowe again, though.  

She’s a madwoman—more in the literal sense of the word. Half-walks half-runs the rest of the way when they meet up again outside  _Johnny's_. Starts  _wailing_  into him the moment he's within reach.  

"Nyx, what. The. Fuck.” She says, flashing her phone in front of him vengefully.

It's a shot of Nyx wrestling with Kirin in Alexandria Park—posted by someone Crowe follows on whatever social media app is trending these days—Nyx's t-shirt all torn up on one side. Nyx remembers that day in perfect detail:  _Day Two with Kirin_.  Pelna refused to let him leave without one of his spares as compensation the moment he saw Kirin's handiwork and coincidentally, Nyx is wearing said shirt right now.  It fit a little snug in the beginning, since Pelna has more of a dancer's build: toned without the bulk—not that Nyx has been ogling—but a couple of washes and it's now loose enough to accommodate upper arm and shoulder mobility.  One could even go so far to say it's grown on him. 

"Oh..." Nyx goes, softly as the realization sinks in.  

"'Oh'? What do you mean ' _Oh_ '." Crowe starts hitting him again.  "Fucking—you got a dog and you didn't tell me?"

Somehow, he vaguely remembers a past conversation where she'd broached the topic of him adopting a service dog, and his mind goes,  _Oh...shit._

"Nothing  _to_  tell because I  _still_  don't have a dog." He brings up his own phone to show her a picture as proof: Pelna laughing as Kirin attempts to sit in his lap because she thinks she's a much smaller dog, and Pelna has never bothered to teach her otherwise.  "She's my friend's. From the VA."

Crowe falls silent as she processes, actually takes his phone from him so she can study it more closely.  "Your fr... _this_  is the guy from Z Unit?  _You're_  friends with  _him_."

It's kind of insulting the way that last part comes across, almost like he's told her the war's back on. 

"Yeah...that's Pelna." Nyx says, frowning a little. "I told you about him." 

She's always worn her heart on her sleeve, but Nyx is not quite sure how to read that expression on her face—a mixed bag of realization and relief and more importantly: growing incredulity.  She hands him back his phone and holds the door open for him, and goes completely non-verbal when they're seated. Kind of stares into space with the blankest of blank looks known to man, which relegates Nyx the task of relaying her usual order on top of his when the server eventually comes around.

"Insomnia to Crowe, do you copy?" Nyx tries to poke her in the cheek, but without looking up she catches his finger before he gets anywhere near. Twists. "Ow!"

"Contour," she replies, shrugging remorselessly. "And Crowe definitely does copy, mister  _Dog-Whisperer_."

Nyx looks at her oddly.  

"Shiva do I have to do everything myself?"  Crowe slams her hands on the counter, earning the ire of the staff and other patrons, then jerks him close, voice lowering. "Your friend's  _hot_  you muppet."

"What's that got to do with anything?"  Nyx scoffs, but something traitorous in his stomach is doing warp-flips anyway.  And ‘muppet’? That's the invisible hand of Libertus at work here.

Crowe lightly slaps his cheek. " _Juuust_  making sure your eyes are still working. Which they are.  _Nicely_." She adds, eyebrows wagging up and down. 

Nyx knows the best course of action is to not react or respond, but the reptilian side of his brain has already taken over, shooting straight to the defensive before he realizes:

“You’re reading too much into it. We’re just—”

“—what?  _Friends_?” Crowe teases, batting her lashes at him. 

“ _Hanging out_.” Nyx corrects. Crowe gives him a ‘look’. “I just really like his dog!”

“ _Your_  words, not mine, bud.  Fuck's sake, where the hell is our food I’m  _dying_.” Crowe mutters, and when she jumps out of her seat to pick a fight with the cashier instead, Nyx's mammalian brain wisely elects not to intervene.   

 

. . .

 

Thanks to Crowe Nyx regresses, goes right back to— _fine—_ 'brooding', and not mostly about the war, which he should be relieved for, but he isn’t, because now he's brooding about Pelna  _and_  the war.  He wants to ask about Zoldara, confirm the disturbing shit he’s heard, because there's 'fucked up', and there’s Z Unit, who apparently have their own tier if the Lucians had to draft up a completely separate NDA for them before Niflheim was willing to sign the armistice.  It doesn't seem fair that no one in that unit can talk about it to anyone else.

"How do you do it?" Nyx blurts, one evening after his cooking class while Pelna's walking him home.

Pelna isn't officially back to attending their usual meet-ups yet—it's only after Nyx presses him that he finds out Pelna's friend attended their same group--and it's not like Nyx can't relate or judge:  _he_ still dances around the topic of returning to Galahd and it's been  _two_  years since Neo-Galahd rose from the ashes. Relatively speaking, Pelna's leagues ahead of him in the Moving On department if he has the resilience to meet Nyx outside the VA—never-mind the fact that he hasn't stepped through its doors. 

"How do I do what?"

Nyx can see Pelna smile in the corner of his eye--or maybe he's visualized it with nothing but that fateful first day as a frame of reference.

_"Better hurry, before the Lucians change their mind."_

Nyx doesn't turn to confirm it. It's easier to talk when they're side by side like this, not quite shoulder to shoulder but still close enough for comfort. It could be a side-effect of being around Crowe so much, but he knows he has a habit of saying too much when Pelna looks at him directly. Where Crowe's gaze penetrates, a storm making landfall the way she prods and prods until she wrangles the truth out of him, Pelna's gaze is patient, like the gradual heat of the sun as it rises higher into the sky, until the extra layers of protection become redundant and somewhat foolish.  

"How do you..." Nyx can't help but gesture vaguely at the man, because  _seriously what the hell._

"Music." Pelna replies. "Loud music. Ever been to an EDM concert?"

"That techno garbage kids are listening to?" Nyx scoffs. Crowe tried to get him and the guys into it every time she hijacked the van's Bluetooth, but only succeeded in putting everyone off for the rest of the foreseeable future. 

"Listen to yourself. ' _Kids'_." Pelna repeats with a chuckle. "But yeah. Techno garbage.  _Loud_  techno garbage, currently."

Musical stylings are one thing, but  _volume_? Nyx winces as he contemplates it. "How do you even hear yourself  _think_?"

"I  _don't_. Kind of the whole point."

It occurs to Nyx then, that he's never seen Pelna without his headphones draped around his neck, and things make a little more sense the longer he reflects on it. Maybe music is Pelna's equivalent of making breakfast bruschetta or staining oak. 

Still;  _EDM_? It's just  _noise—_ the complete opposite of what you'd listen to to relax. They spend the entire walk in friendly debate about it.  

"But you don't listen  _all_  the time, right?  You aren't right now." Nyx insists when they reach his flat.  He can't help himself because he's determined to get the last word on the matter: goes in close just so he can hold Pelna's headphones to his ear to make sure nothing's playing. He doesn't really think about how close they'd be standing afterwards, but Pelna makes no move to back away like any other person with reasonable expectations of personal space would.

"'Course not. Not when I'm listening to  _you_." Pelna replies quietly, eyes meeting his, flickering briefly down to where Nyx is still holding his headphones and back up again. 

"I..." Nyx is, somehow, able to stretch that syllable for a good five seconds.  He tilts his head at Pelna, wary, uncertain, and hopeful at the same time. Heart in his mouth.  "Was that a  _line_?"

"Why? You fishing?" Pelna teases. He gently frees his headphones from Nyx's grasp, fingers brushing lightly against Nyx's. Nyx is sure Pelna hasn't missed the slight shiver than runs through him when he does—the bastard could stand to be less goddamn smug about it—but Ifrit roast him alive if that confidence doesn't uncover something he'd long thought buried deep. 

"I..."

"I?" Pelna repeats, brow raised, corner of his mouth twitching. 

Here's the thing: Nyx  _could_  keep the game up; go back and forth with the clever repartee until one of them caves, but he's much too out of practice to be anything other than genuine, and he's old enough to have seen and endured his share of horrible shit to know that the good things in life disappear when one takes them for granted.  To know a good thing when it's right in front of him. He likes Pelna—the little he's seen so far—enough to know there's so much he already doesn't know and too much he wants to.

So genuine’s all he’s got.

"I might be." Nyx says, swallowing thickly after the admission hangs in the air.  

“Well then, sorry to disappoint, but that definitely wasn’t a line.”  Pelna confirms solemnly, one hand coming up to squeeze Nyx's shoulder before shifting back. Nyx watches him go, heart sinking through the pavement.  He can't figure out why Pelna's smiling until Pelna goes,

"Since  _you_  wouldn't know one if it pat you on the back." 

Nyx opens his mouth. Closes. Opens it again. No words, only disbelief.

" _Catch_  you later." Pelna snickers.  He tugs his headphones back on and breaks off into a jog down the street, disappearing around the corner. 

 

. . .

 

"Holy shit. Holy fucking _shit!_  How the fuck is it so  _soft_?” Crowe demands, outraged.

Both her hands are on Nyx’s face, squishing his significantly less overgrown cheeks.  He couldn't fully commit to the idea of being clean-shaven especially after the barber recommends a trim to about medium length when Nyx asks for something that doesn't itch. Nyx is so pleased with the result he even buys the beard oil that the man uses. 

He figures he’d built up a tolerance at the barber’s from other customers—if he’s able to endure Crowe's unabashed scrutiny in broad daylight during Insomnian lunch hour.  She steps back, pursing her lips a little.

“Now how am I supposed make fun of you?”  

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something.” Nyx says, rolling his eyes, but internally basking in that backhanded stamp of approval for as long as it lasts. 

“ _So_.” Crowe nudges him pointedly as they cross the intersection.   _Johnny’s_  filled up while she was having her adjustment period, so it’s  _Seventh Heaven_  for them, one block over and hidden by enough side streets to be guaranteed devoid of salarymen. “Tell me.”

Nyx shakes his head.  “Nothing to tell. Seriously.”

“Liar, and you’re not a very good one.” Crowe says, hand over his arm forcing him to stop and look her in the eye. “You asked him out.”

"Nope.” Nyx answers gleefully.

“He asked  _you_  out.”

“Wrong again,” Nyx grins. It’s a little morbid how he’s happy about that, but the unsure look on Crowe’s face as they continue on more than makes up for it. 

"So, what, you just wokeup today and decided to make a change?"

"If it were that easy I wouldn't have needed therapy," Nyx says, holding the door open for her.

"Whatever you say pretty boy," Crowe says.

 _There it is_ , Nyx thinks.

 

. . .

 

Nyx knows, objectively, that people find him attractive. It's a nice boost to the ego, turning heads as he makes his way to Pelna's to take Kirin off his hands, but back in the glaive it just made him an easy target for jokes. Made every promotion he earned feel like pushing shit uphill whenever some smartass decided to make it about the way he looked to cater to their own insecurities. 'Pretty boy' was the most common insult, and on a scale ranked from least hated to outright despised, it's somewhere close to the latter. When he hears it again after all these years he's proud of how far he's come by how easily it bounces off of him, but a part of himself can't stop from worrying if it'll be all Pelna sees.  

It takes a while for Pelna to wrestle his way to the door because Kirin now associates the doorbell ringing with playtime--which Nyx is usually obscenely proud of on any other given Sunday. Eventually the suspense gets to him and he finds himself at the foot of VA steps on his 'first' day, doing a 180 when the door finally opens.

"...I swear it's like she's got some kind of unhealthy dependency now." Pelna laughs, fighting to keep Kirin under control, her tail smacking against his leg. "Also you're late. Please don't ever be late a—uh Nyx? You planning on walking my dog backwards?"

"Uh, no, I just." Nyx hesitates, but turns around. 

Kirin's excitement dwindles, tail no longer wagging, but in between her legs, and for a beat there's silence, his and Pelna's eyes meeting.

" _Fuck_." Pelna says, somewhat hoarsely.

Nyx doesn't get time to unpack that response because Kirin immediately goes on the defensive and starts barking at him.  It draws the attention of a few people passing Pelna's flat, who opt to cross to the other side of the street for safety.  

"Aww man that bad huh." Nyx says with a laugh that doesn't quite mask his disappointment. 

"No, not you; you look great. Real spiffy." Pelna says distractedly. He's preoccupied with trying to coax Kirin from where she's hiding behind him and growling. "Come on you dope, you know who that is. You saw him last week."

Nyx gets it.  He crouches to Kirin's level and tentatively holds his arms out. "Kirin, it's me. Walk?" Kirin barks and he withdraws hastily. "Uh yep. Nope. Fuck that. Take your time."

"She's scared, but she'll come round." Pelna says, making himself comfortable on the welcome mat. "Just give it time."

"You speaking from experience?" Nyx teases. 

"Come _on_.” Pelna smiles a little as Kirin pokes her head through the gap of his arm, eyeing Nyx.  “You don’t find what she’s going through the least bit relateable?" 

“Do _you_?”

Pelna nods. “Every day since I’ve been back.  They tell me it gets easier, but I’m still waiting.” He tilts a little to the side to give Kirin more room. “Come on girl.  There you go.”

Kirin approaches, sniffing at the air around Nyx, drawing closer and closer.

"Come on, idiot. It's me." Nyx says.  The moment his scent registers, Kirin goes ballistic, tackles him onto the porch, weaving in and out of his lap, tail on the verge of flying off with all the energy she's putting into wagging it. "She needs to be around more people," Nyx concludes as Pelna gives him the leash.

"Says the guy who got a haircut and confused the shit out of her." Pelna mutters, retreating back into the house.

  
. . .

  
"What are you watching?"

Without waiting for an answer Pelna vaults over the park bench to sit beside Nyx, peering at his tablet for a second before he glances up, unimpressed.  

“Did you seriously, _actually_ type ‘techno garbage’ in YouTube?” 

“You're right." Nyx rolls his eyes. "Should've typed ' _classic_ , techno garbage'.” 

“ _Astrals_. Give it here.” Pelna takes it from him and opens a new tab, typing so fast that Nyx quickly gives up trying to read and settles for watching Kirin play a group of kids nearby.  

“She’s so gentle with them.” _That traitor._ He might be a little jealous.

Pelna smiles, still typing.  “Would you prefer she steamroll them instead?  _Aaand_ , done.” He says, passing the tablet back. He’s cleared out the internet history, which Nyx finds odd when he opens up the browser again to a blank home page. 

“What’d you—”

“How are you with flashing lights and fireworks?  Any past history of epilepsy in your family?” Pelna asks instead, turning to fully face him.

“No past history.” Nyx confirms. “Why—”

“What about crowds?  Tight spaces, that sort of thing?”

“What sane person loves a crowd?”

“Good answer.” Pelna acknowledges.   He jumps to his feet and whistles for Kirin to come in. “Means you’re all set.”

“For…what?” Nyx demands, wary, even after Kirin bounds over and licks his face in greeting.  “Hey beautiful, how are you?" Kirin licks his face again in answer.

“For your crash course in techno garbage, _duh_.” Pelna answers with a smirk, now tugging Kirin along toward home. “I’ll text you the details.”

 

. . .

 

Pelna shows up outside Nyx's apartment on the appointed day in a shiny black Jeep that he'd rented especially for the occasion, and blindfolds him so he can't guess what's coming.  He also forces Nyx to listen to one of his playlists on repeat the entire way over. Nyx, grudgingly after the first half hour, admits that some of the tracks have some pretty catchy hooks when he starts singing along.

"Never met a person who didn't like _[One More Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fa5IWHDbftI) _ on the first listen.  Props for proving me wrong." Pelna says, the joy in his voice so palpable and infectious that Nyx smiles in spite of himself. 

The journey doesn't seem as lengthy when the jeep finally slows down to a complete stop after that, Pelna killing the engine and finally removing the blindfolds. 

The sun's already set when Nyx opens his eyes, but it still takes him a while to adjust before he's ready to hop out. When he does, it takes even shorter time for him to recognize his surroundings. The sea salt he'd smelt in the breeze had been his first clue before the blindfolds had come off. It's Galdin, though not the makeshift aid station he remembers; not so bloodstained and full of death.

"A little late for a swim, don't you think?" Nyx says, trudging through the sand to Pelna who's still stretching his torso and shoulders. 

"We're not here to swim.  You are diving off into the deep end, though." Pelna nods towards the cliffs overlooking the beach where a stage has been set up and a sizable crowd has gathered.  

"A concert?" Nyx looks back at Pelna, puzzled. 

" _The_ Concert." Pelna corrects pompously. "Don't worry, I'll hold your hand if you get scared." He teases, dodging Nyx's swipes as Nyx chases him up the hill. 

 

. . . 

 

Crash course is an understatement.  Nyx is blown away by how unapologetically _loud_ the whole concert is--from decibel level to the way the neon lighting pierces through the darkness; how complete strangers are able to find solidarity in the simple act of belting out lyrics to each other. Complete chaos, all of it. He turns to Pelna to make a quip about his eardrums about to burst but it's almost as if the man is in another dimension altogether: eyes closed; at peace in the centre of it all.

Nyx forgets all about the concert then: the noise, the people pressing up against him, that one woman that keeps groping his ass. Wonders if this, the exhilarating calm he can barely contain in his ribcage is what the first person to stand in the eye of a storm felt like.

Is sure as the ground is steady under his feet that he's been weathering a storm of his own in arriving at this point.

And he's done running; most certainly done hiding, too.

When he reaches, and tentatively brushes his fingers over Pelna's, he feels foolish for not doing so sooner. There's no hesitation on Pelna's part when he meets Nyx more than halfway, closing his hand over his. Opens his eyes just to wink at him, and Nyx knows he's in trouble from the mere way that his chest _aches_ and he needs to remind himself to breathe.

. . .

 

They're a lot closer to each other as they walk back, _almost_ shoulder to shoulder--Nyx has a few inches on him in height--,their fingers brushing occasionally. Pelna's tossing his keys up and down with his free hand to keep the silence at bay--until they reach the jeep, that is.

"Zangan's on Nibelheim." He says, leaning against the front bumper.

"The fighting gym?" Nyx clarifies, moving beside him until his hand is right alongside Pelna's.

"Yeah. That's where I first saw you. Didn't realize it was you at first, getting your ass handed to you Wednesdays, without fail. The guys in my unit started a betting poll to predict a date when you'd finally get the drop on her. Anyway long story short I lost a lot of money, but I did gain a lot of respect for you. You don't give up."

"Probably should learn to at some point." Nyx mutters, earning a laugh from him. "Why didn't you ever talk to me?"

Pelna gives him a sideways glance. "Seems like a weird way to start a conversation: 'hey I saw you getting your ass beat and I thought I'd say what's up...'" Nyx laughs. "But also because _your_ sparring partner got into a fistfight with _my_ sparring partner--"

"Fuck's sake." Nyx groans, because Crowe does have that kind of reputation at Zangan's.

"Nah don't worry he had it coming, trust me. A few days later I saw you on the VA steps, scoping the place out, but you never came in. So then we started _another_ betting poll--"

"You _assholes_ \--"

"Kidding!" Pelna laughs, squeezing Nyx's hand. The laughter dies a little, Pelna's eyes frosting over as he stares into the darkness, remembering something else.  Someday Nyx will ask about Zoldara, and someday, maybe Pelna will be ready to open up about it.  Either way, Nyx knows he's going to be there. For now he's content to do that by presence alone.  It's only when he interlinks Pelna's fingers with his that some of the tension eases out.

"It was hard," Pelna admits, softly.  "Seeing you jog past every day. Then one day my friend had a near-miss and I knew I couldn't watch forever.  I guess I just didn't want the same thing to--we've already given so much--lost _so_ much--"

Nyx kisses him. It's as much an act of giving comfort, as it is in receiving it.

It's also anyone's guess as to how long they make out against the jeep, but it's better than any daydream he's had in _Johnny's_ \--in fact it's kind of perfect: a cloak of stars above, the sound of the ocean waves cresting just a few meters out, Pelna's face cradled in his hand, Pelna's mouth moving languidly to dull Nyx's own urgency--almost as if he can sense that it scares Nyx to think how easily this could have slipped away from him.  He gives, but warily, and only as much as Nyx dares to take.  There are still walls yet to be scaled, perhaps even dismantled between the two of them, and Pelna holds his own well. 

Balances.  

"You sure you don't want to do a few laps around the hotel?" Pelna teases when they finally surface, eyes a little glazed over, breath _a lot_ short. "Make sure we're a good fit?"

"I'm sure." Nyx says. Or rather; Nyx  _knows:_  heart pounding against the walls of his chest because he _still_ can't believe this is happening to him. Can't believe how something as seemingly innocuous as a clap on the back was how this all started.  "Have to get in quick before the Lucians change their minds, you know."

Pelna buries his hand in his face, laughing and Nyx grins thinking, _yeah._

 _He's not going_ anywhere _._

_**-fin-** _

**Author's Note:**

> [hey do you like daft punk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x84m3YyO2oU)
> 
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> 
> a dissertation on[pelna khara and nyx ulric](https://ghostl0rd.tumblr.com/post/177652924690/pelna-khara-a-writers-cheat-sheet)


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